


The Memories of You

by bettysjughead



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/F, F/M, Female Pilots, Fluff, Semi Slow-Burn, Smut, other mentioned characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysjughead/pseuds/bettysjughead
Summary: Riverdale World War Two AU“War is hell.” — William T. ShermanJughead is a young man trying to get out of his father’s dangerous clutches. His one chance of getting out is joining the war effort, even if it means potentially getting himself killed. It seems like a good plan, until he meets her.The her is Betty, a young girl who just moved to Riverdale and has fallen for the quiet boy that roams the halls at school. She wants to get to know the boy with captivating eyes, but she doesn’t know the demons he hides.What will happen between the pair? Read to find out.*Disclaimer*—During the writing process of this story, I have tried to stay as close to historical events as I could.—Some of the details had to be altered for obvious reasons.—Please don’t comment that something isn’t right, or that something couldn’t ever happen. This is a work of fiction, after all.—The characters belong to the Archie/Riverdale Universe, but the story is mine.—Thank you to my lovely best friend for being my beta reader and helping me continue to write this story.





	1. There’s Nothing But Time

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my sister, she basically told me to write another bughead fanfiction, but an actual story and not a one-shot! also dedicated to you all, lovely people whomst decided to click on my story! It means the world xx

_Forsythe’s Point of View_

 

75 days;

 

1,800 hours

 

or

 

108,000 minutes

 

or

 

6,480,000 seconds.

 

I don’t have much longer. Once I turn 18, I won’t ever have to look back at this god forsaken place ever again, or the monster that lives within its walls. Every moment that I’m in this house, I have to endure the wrath of my father. Even with the war raging in Europe, being a soldier is a better alternative than what I face now with my father.

While the United States has not officially joined the war, something deep down within me knows that it’s only a matter of time before something happens that will force the United States to join the war. And, even though I’ll be under danger every moment, it is nothing in comparison than that of being under the eye of FP Jones.

I look down at my plate from breakfast this morning and begin to scrub as hard as possible until it’s clean. If FP saw me just daydreaming instead of doing my chores, he could give me utter hell. 

“Forsythe.” I almost flinched at the sound of my own name, accompanied by the sounds of his heavy footsteps as he walks closer towards me. I feel the air stir as he raises his right hand comes up, waiting for his impending blow. But instead of what I thought, his hand lightly places itself onto my shoulder, as a reminder. “Don’t let the toast burn again, son.”

FP takes his hand off of me, then strides towards the kitchen table, picking up the newspaper I had laid out for him earlier. While his touch is supposed to be comforting, it is very far from that. I take a quick glance at the toaster, but don’t see the billows of smoke that I expected.

I let out a small breath, “Yes, sir.”

I actually haven’t burnt his piece of toast or scorched his eggs in many years, but I know he will never let me forget, reminding me of my smallest mistakes. Reminding me that there will always be a consequence for nearly everything that I do around him.

Once the toast is done, I carefully plate it, as I do with the eggs, too before slowly placing it down in front of FP in the dining room. I walk back into the kitchen to finish washing the egg pan and wiping down the counter tops. I’ll take any excuse so that I don’t have to sit down with him.

From the kitchen, I hear the flipping of the pages in the newspaper, more likely than not reading about how the Germans invaded the Soviet Union recently. His toes bounce against the hard wood floor in pure annoyance. I’m sure that the only thing going through his mind right now is how his precious stocks are going to react to this news, not about how people are actually losing their lives and be being driven from their homes.

Once the pan is spotlessly clean, I place it back into the cabinet and look over to see that FP needs more coffee. I grip the coffee pot tightly in my hand, walking carefully to not drop it, and refill his glass. I hear him mumble something about the stock prices and take a mental note to be especially careful this evening. He will more than likely be in a foul mood when he arrives at home.

His plate is clear of the breakfast I made, so I grasp it after refilling his coffee, greatful to have a legitimate reason to not sit with him. I start to clean the plate slowly, being very deliberate with my movements. I glance up at the clock hanging on the wall, and see that I have ten more minutes before I can leave.

I am placing the plate back in the cabinet with all of the others when I hear FP’s footsteps walk into the kitchen behind me placing his glass in the sink. I’ll be late tonight. I have to meet Hal Cooper at his home this evening. Make sure all of your chores are completed before I get home.” He turns on his heal to leave and I almost feel dizzy at the thought of him not leaving me with a threat. I won’t have to deal with his wrath for very long tonight , especially if I can come up with an some kind of excuse to go to bed early tonight. “Make sure you finish them. We don’t want a repeat of last week.” Then he walks out the front door, buttoning his jacket and closing the door.

I can feel my hands lightly shaking against the sink and the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, my still healing wounds throbbing against my back. The memory of last week’s beating comes back to my mind at a full force. I had just finished washing his plate after dinner and the wet plate had slipped from between my fingers, shattering against the tile floor before I could catch it.

I had received fifteen lashes on the back for the incident. Fourteen of the lashes were for how many pieces the plate had shattered into, and another one so that I wouldn’t forget the consequences for my careless actions. 

But along with the blows from his belt, came his harsh words, telling me that I was a pathetic excuse for a son and that I wouldn’t amount to anything in this world if I couldn’t even wash a plate. But the worst, by far, was that he told me that it would make me a better man. That it was for my own good. Like he was trying to prove some point that his actions were actually a nice thing, full of love and compassion. If that is what love is, I’m going to need to live alone the rest of my life. 

When I hear him leave, I take very deep breaths to calm my nerves. I finish cleaning the last dish and grabbed everything that I needed for school. I took one last calming breath before heading out the door and beginning the short walk to school, trying my hardest to leave my demons where they belong.

The walk isn’t very far, given how close the house is to the school. The breeze has a bit of a chill to it, indicating that winter will soon be here. The only thing going through my mind is that the sooner that winter gets here, the sooner I can leave this wretched place behind. I thrust my hands into my pockets in an attempt to keep them warm, round my shoulders and keep my head down to avoid looking at anybody passing by.

The school is warm and welcoming as I enter the building about ten minutes later. This place has become my own personal sanctuary for about eight hours of my day. I’m usually one of the very first students to arrive, but I don’t mind. I’m more than greatful to have an excuse to be away from FP. I find myself a seat in the back of the auditorium, pulling out the small brochure from the Marines from my pocket. I run my fingers over the thin paper, taking each printed word in slowly. This is my ticket to freedom. This is what will finally free me of the chains that have me tethered to FP.

”Excuse me? Do you have an extra pencil?” A gentle voice asks.

I jump slightly, suprised that somebody is speaking to me, and look up into a set of blue-green eyes; a girl gazed back at me with a small smile across her lips. I look around quickly, noting that the auditorium has filled significantly since I had arrived. I look back down and reach into my bag. “Umm...Yeah.” I hand the pencil to her, but don’t look back up when I feel the pencil slip out of my grasp, keeping my eyes trained down, unsure of how this conversation is going to continue.

Everybody knows the rumors about my mother, that she left with my sister, Jellybean a few years ago, leaving me all alone with my father. While nobody ever spoke directly to me about it, I heard their whisperings behind my back. The whispers of pity, of how she must not have actually loved either of us if she was willing to leave such a good man behind, never knowing the true depths of hell me, my mother and Jellybean went through.

I don’t really blame my mother for leaving. The things that he did to Jelly and I in her presence were horrific. The worst thing was what I heard him do to my mother behind closed doors, through the paper thin walls, my imagination taking me to dark places that no child should ever have to venture. I just wish she’d taken me too, but somewhere, deep down, I knew it wouldn’t have worked. He didn’t care about Jellybean, she was just useless. She wasn’t an heir. He wouldn’t have stopped until he found me, though.

When I retreated into myself, not allowing anyone near me, most people assumed that I was some kind of rebel that would negatively influence their children, or that I was secretly running off and doing horrible things. I allowed these rumors to spread unchallenged because it meant that others would be safe, that nobody would ever have to suffer like Jellybean, my mother and I have.

I feel someone sit next to me, and I barely resist the urge to flinch away. Her voice is soft and comforting. “Hey, are you okay?”

I glance over to the girl with the blue-green eyes, then look back down. “Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice is sharp; I can’t have friends. FP would destroy both them and me for such a frivolous thing.

The girl continues, undeterred by my sharp comment, “You can talk to me, you know. I promise I won’t bite. I’m Elizabeth.” She extends me her left hand, but I don’t accept it. I watch it fall slowly back into her lap when she realizes that I am not going to accept her handshake.

“Forsythe.” I murmur, looking up quickly to see if anyone is watching us, trying to figure out if this is some kind of prank and I’m the punch line. I noticed a raven haired girl a few rows ahead with a slight scowl on her face. I turn back to Elizabeth and say, “I think your friend is waiting for you.”

I watch Elizabeth look over to the girl, then sigh deeply. She finally takes my hint to leave. She stands slowly, but says, “If you want to join me, there’s an extra seat so you don’t have to sit alone.”

I look up briefly, taking her form in. She is small and petite. Her blonde hair has been pulled back into a ponytail at the back of her head, with several wisps falling down and framing her face. A silver locket hangs around her neck, sparkling when she moves slightly, accenting her blue dress. She is what most people would consider pretty, and her boldness in talking to the school outcast and along with her genial kindness makes my stomach do flips.

I can’t get to know her, though. Everything about this ‘Elizabeth” girl screams ‘fragile’, and FP would surely break her. I sigh, looking back down, trying to be as blunt as I can be. “Thank you for the offer, Elizabeth, but I’m fine here.”

She walks away, and I see that she has a small frown across her features as she walks back towards her friend. I feel a slight pull at my heart, knowing that Inpit that frown there but I shake it off. I can’t like this girl. I just can’t. I turn my attention back to the pamphlet, running all the numbers through my head again. I’ll be graduating December 17th this year, and will be turning eighteen a few weeks later. Then I will be able to enlist and leave FP forever. I glance at the clock, noting the time, and doing the math quickly in my head.

75 days

1,798 hours

107,880 minutes

6,472,800 seconds

Then I will be free from this hell.


	2. Don’t Believe Everything You Hear

_Elizabeth’s Point_ _of View_

 

Veronica turns to me as I take a seat next to her, looking at the pencil I now held in my right hand. “Why did you ask him for a pencil? I have plenty of them.” She said incredulously. 

I roll the pencil between my fingers, thinking of his deep blue eyes, the small scar on his forehead and the way his eyebrows creased when he spoke to me. I look over to her, a scandalized look on her face. “Veronica, stop worrying. It was just a pencil.” I turn back towards the stage, waiting for Principal Weatherbee to begin his morning announcements.

She huffs out a breath, also looking towards the stage. “Betty, you know why he sits by himself, right?”

I slowly turn my whole body towards Veronica, upset that she simply believes rumors without ever bothering to check and see if the stories are really true. “Veronica, I really don’t want to hear about all of the rumors you’ve heard. It shouldn’t matter what happened in his past. He deserves the chance to have a friend just like everybody else, and nobody has ever made an effort because of those said stupid rumors.” I grab my things, keeping his pencil in my left hand and stand. “I’m going to be that friend to him.”

I’m about to walk to Forsythe, when Veronica grabs my arm. “Where are you going?” She hisses.

I look down at her and reply, my voice icy. “To sit with him. Even if he doesn’t say anything to me, I want him to know that I will be his friend when nobody else will.” I wrench my arm free of her grip. The other girls in my row give me scandalized looks.

”Betty, what will people say if they see you sitting with him?” Her face is full of worry.

”I really don’t care what anyone has to say on the subject.” I walk back to sit with Jughead, anger pulsing through my veins at Veronica’s words.

Several heads turn in my direction, but I simply hold my head high and sit down next to Forsythe just as Principal Weatherbee walks to the podium. After a few moments, my heart rate returns back to normal, the surge of anger dissipating. As Principal Weatherbee begins giving the morning announcements, I turn to look at Forsythe, who continues to stare at his hands that rest in his lap.

I lean over, whispering so that no one will hear. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that if you do want to say anything, I’m here.” I swivel my eyes forward, but I see him turn his head slightly to me.

He keeps his voice low, so we don’t get into trouble. “Trust me, Elizabeth. You don’t want to know me.” He pauses and I turn to see that he is clenching his jaw and his eyes are closed. I almost miss his next words, they are so low. “I’m dangerous.”

Silence falls between us. Even with his words of warning, I still feel like I am in no peril. I actually feel safe in his presence. I continue to stay seated next to him until Principal Weatherbee dismisses us to our classes. Without another word, Forsythe is out of his seat and out the door before anyone else has even stood.

I sigh, gathering my things slowly, and heading towards my first class. While most others would assume I was trying to pull some elaborate prank, I honestly just want to get to know him. I’ve watched him trying his best to remain unnoticed, sticking to the shadows and the back of classrooms, but he’s actually one of the first people I noticed when I moved here a few months ago. My father’s law firm relocated here when more opportunities were coming from the city of Riverdale than they were from our former home of Ohio. 

I had heard the rumors of how his mother and sister left several years ago and that Forsythe has turned into some kind of rebel as a result. I kept my distance and observed him just to be sure, but I don’t believe any of it. He’s always quiet and polite to the teachers, keeps to himself and his build doesn’t suggest he gets into fights often. He’s tall but thin, like he hit a major growth spurt recently and his body has yet to catch up. His raven hair has a slight curl to it, but he keeps it fairly short. But, his eyes are what have me bewitched. I really want to get closer to him and learn more about him; I’m just not sure if he will let me.

 

* * *

 

 

I place my bag on my desk at home and begin pulling out my homework, trying desperately not to think about Forsythe. I hear Polly across the hall, talking to herself about something in her chemistry class. I try my best to ignore what she’s saying and focus on my English paper instead. 

I work quickly, since my mother said she would need my help with dinner when she got done with her shift at the hospital. Polly was never any use in the kitchen, and my mom often was lashing at her because of that, saying she needed to know how to cook in order to find a suitable husband. My father had told us last week that a bank manager would be coming over tonight to discuss some business. 

I really hate these kind of dinners. The conversations are usually very dull, even with my best effort to pay attention, but when numbers and figures are passed around the table, my attention wavers greatly. Polly, on the other hand, seems to have no problem following the conversation, being the dutiful heiress that my father hopes will follow in his footsteps. 

The other problem with these kinds of dinners is if any of the businessmen have sons around Polly and I’s age, they often bring them along to catch either of our eyes. Most of them don’t even know what to do around a female, and they just assume that women will fall all over them without any actual effort.

The worst that I’ve encountered so far was Chuck, who seemed to notice my lack of intrest in the conversation he attempting to have with me and grabbed my leg under the table. I then stood up, slapping him hard across the face, and stomped out of the room. My father didn’t get the client he had been hoping for, but said that he didn’t want to work with someone who didn’t teach his son how to respect a woman, especially his daughter.

I hear the kitchen door open and know that my mother is home. I finish the last problem of my math homework and begin putting everything away as my mother peeks her head in. “Elizabeth, are you almost done?” 

I look over to my mother in her nurse’s uniform and and smile, closing the last book. “Just finished. What would you like me to do?” 

“Could you start chopping the vegetables for the roast whilst I change?” She asks, gesturing at her outfit. 

I smile and reply, “Sure, mom.”

I heard to the kitchen, tying an apron around my waist and gather all of the vegetables that I’ll need and begin the task of chopping the carrots. My mother walks in shortly after, getting what she needs to prepare the meat. We hum one of our favorite songs, slipping in lyrics every once and a while, laughing when one of us misses a word.

My mother slides the pan into the oven and says, “Oh, Elizabeth, before I forget. Your aunt sent you a letter. I laid it on your desk.”

I smile at the thought of the letter, excited to see where her and my uncle went recently. “Thanks, mom. I’ll look at it after dinner.”

My mom begins pulling out things for the cake tonight, but I notice the disturbing lack of chocolate. I look over at my mother, my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I thought you said we were going to make chocolate cake?” 

My mom sighs. “We were, but your father said that the bank manager doesn’t care for chocolate. So, banana cake it is.” She answers, using her false, cheerful smile.

I wrinkle my nose at the poor substitute and begin preparing the cake. By the time we are done, it’s almost time for the bank manager to arrive. “Elizabeth, I’ll finish up in here while you get changed. Oh, and would you mind wearing that pink dress since his son is coming?” She winks at me with a grin. 

I nod my head, about to go back to my room, but then I turn back in hopes of salvaging this upcoming dinner. “Are we at least going to play cards tonight? I’ll even take rummy.” I say, desperately.

My mother sighs, and gives me a rueful smile.  ”I’m afraid not. Just business this time.” She laughs lightly. “Maybe we can play cards after dinner, just you and me. I need to win back my coins from last time.” She waves towards my room. “Now, scoot. You need to get ready before Mr Jones gets here.”

I smile and begin to walk back to my room. My smile fades as I look at the dress laid out on my bed. I hate the color pink. I feel like some kind of doll whenever I wear the dress that my mother bought for me. She said it might help me find a husband one day, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t want that. I want to travel the world. I want the freedom to be myself. I don’t want to marry someone who will just see me as property, who will expect me to bear his children and have dinner ready when he gets home. I don’t want that for my life.

I change quickly and attempt to fix my hair and head back to help Polly and my mother set the table. Just as Polly is putting the last piece of silverware down on the table, I hear my father come through the front door. He’s speaking with another man, who I assume to be Mr. Jones; his voice is too low for me to make out. 

I grab the gravy boat off of the counter and head to the dining room table, doing my best to smile. I place the dish next to the others just as my father walks in. “Hello, Elizabeth. Don’t you look lovely.” He gushes.

I give my dad a small smile as he gestures for the man behind him to enter. “Elizabeth, Polly, Alice, this is FP Jones.” 

A fairly tall man walks in behind my father. He was dark hair with specks of gray throughout. He would probably be considered handsome by women his age, but his eyes are cold blue. Something about him is familiar, but I can’t figure out what.

I extend my hand out to him since I am the closest to the newcomer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones.” He takes my hand in his giving me a wicked smile, and I have the urge to rip my hand away from his grip; my heart begins to beat twice as fast at his look. Something about this man makes my skin crawl. He hasn’t said a word, and already I don’t like him.

I take my hand back as quickly as I can without being rude. “May I get you something to drink, Mr. Jones?” I try and find an excuse to leave and calm my racing heart.

”Water would be lovely, my dear.” His voice drips with fake sincerity. 

I nod, turning on my heel toward the kitchen. While all outward appearances would suggest this man is respected in the community, something about him doesn’t feel right. I don’t trust him at all. 

I fill the pitcher with water, closing my eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. I add some ice to the water before going back into the dining room, filling Mr. Jones’ glass before offering it to everyone else around the table. I sit next to my mother, noticing the empty chair between me and Mr. Jones.

Mr. Jones seems to see the question in my eyes and announces, “Unfortunately, my son fell ill this afternoon and couldn’t join us. He was really looking forward to this dinner.” 

I nod my head, greatful that I don’t have to meet the offspring of this man. If he was anything like his father, I would be asking to switch seats with my mother or feigning some illness. 

 

* * *

 

At first, the conversation is mainly concerning how the war is going and if America will be entering the war at all, but then it dissolved into business talk and my intrest wanes quickly. My mind begins wondering back to Forsythe; How do I show him I’m not like everyone else? How do I show him I truly want to be his friend?

My mother’s hand squeezes mine under the table, bringing me back to myself, I look around the table and see that every eye is focused on me. I look down, blushing, and mumbling, “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought about this play we’re reading in class.” I look up and Mr. Jones. “What were you saying?” I try to cover my lack of attention with a horrible attempt at a lie.

I see FP’s eyes narrow slightly, but then it’s gone. “I was asking if you were the one who made this delectable cake.”

I shake my head. “Oh no, sir, that would be my mother.” I gesture toward her. “The women at church always ask her for the recipe. 

My mom squeezes my hand again. “Now, Elizabeth, don’t give me all of the credit. You did most of it yourself this time.”

I look down at my plate, trying to hide my embarrassment. It’s then that I hear FP say, “It’s a shame my son, Forsythe, isn’t here. He really enjoys banana cake.” 

I feel as if ice water has replaced my blood. My eyes grow wide, and my forehead breaks out into a cold sweat. I knew that there were several Joneses in the area, even two that went to our church, but I never would’ve placed this man as Forsythe’s father. 

I feel my breath catching as Forsythe’s words from earlier today ring in my ears, ‘I’m dangerous.’ It’s not Forsythe that is dangerous, it’s him. It’s FP. I can feel it, but I have to make sure that I’m not jumping to conclusions. Deep down, though, I know that I am right. 

My mother touches my shoulder, trying to catch my attention. Her voice is low, concerned. “Are you okay, honey? You’re awfully pale.” 

I slowly look up at her aging face and shake my head. “Why don’t you head to your room and lay down. It looks like you may be coming down with whatever Mr. Jones’ son has.”

I now have everyone’s attention again, and look down. “I’m sorry, everyone. I need to go lay down.” I leave the table quietly, still in a daze. 

I close my door and lean against it, greatful to be free of FP. I take several cleansing breaths, in an attempt to calm my jittery nerves. I need a distraction. I can’t think about FP or the fact that Forsythe may be attached to him.

My eyes land on the letter my mother left on my desk and I lurch towards it, greatful that I waited until now to read it. I sit down at my desk and pick up the letter with shaking hands. I rip into the envelope, pulling out a letter and a small patch from West Virginia. 

I shake my head at the strange souvenir and place it to the side. I unfold the letter and begin reading, finally starting to relax as her words captivate me. My aunt has always been super adventurous and this letter begins by telling me that her and my uncle hiker a part of the Appalachian Trail last month. She recounts how most of their food had been stolen by raccoons at one point, and how they ended up staying at a hotel when my uncle couldn’t take it anymore.

She goes on to talk about how women in her area are getting their piloting licenses at the air base close to where they live. She thinks the women are calling themselves the BEEs, but I’m sure she just misheard. She writes that one of them will lose their nerve and crash the plane in her fields and that she would own the government after that if they ruined her crops. I couldn’t help but giggle at her words. Knowing her, she probably would. 

I reread the last paragraph several times, soaking in her words. Women are actually getting licenses to fly planes. They are going places, seeing the world. I feel a tingling of excitement spread through my body. I could do that, and if I did, I wouldn’t be confined to a world offering me nothing but the prospect of marriage and a job as a secretary or teacher. The question is though, how do I convince my parents to let me go?

 


	3. Breaking Down The Walls

 

 

 

 

 

> _Jughead’s Point of View_

 

75 days

 

1,785 hours 

 

105,900 minutes

 

6,354,000 seconds

 

I trace the lines of the wood grain on the table  with my finger, glancing at the clock one more time. FP should be back any minute. I shouldn’t have to worry much; the house is spotless and my homework is complete. The only things I should really be concerned about is how dinner with Hal Cooper went and what FP’s stock prices did today. If either didn’t go well, then I’ll have to worry.

FP walks through the door a few minutes later, going straight to the kitchen. He comes back, sitting across from me, beer bottle in hand. He twists the top, tipping the bottle back. He looks at me, finally speaking, his voice low in displeasure. “How was your evening, Forsythe?”

I swallow the bike that has started to rise in the back of my throat. Things did not go well tonight. I might be paying the price for whatever has angered him. “I was able to complete my homework and chores, and started reading through the next chapter in English, sir.” I reply, trying to keep the quiver of fear out of my voice.

He nods his head and takes another large swallow from the bottle. I’m not sure if I should bring up the dinner, but he seems to bring up my unspoken question. “Dinner with the Coopers went well. Their youngest daughter is quite lovely. She made the most delectable cake, although she started acting oddly towards the end of the dinner.” He doesn’t elaborate further as he tips the bottle back, finishing it off. He stares off in thought , and a shiver runs down my spine.

I fear for whoever this girl is. She has unfortunately caught FP’s eye, and he will somehow weasel his way into her life, then destroy her life in so many ways. Like countless young women before her.

He gets up, bottle in hand, more than likely heading back to the kitchen for another. I take my chance, hoping to leave his presence and go to the sanctuary of my room. “May I be excused? I have a test in the morning and would like to go to bed early.”

He turns, nodding his head before heading into the kitchen. I stand, walking quickly toward my room, the nausea threatening to overtake me as a true meaning of displeasure hits me hard; I know that I can do nothing to help this girl.

I hear him call from the kitchen, “Goodnight, son.”

I swallow again. “Goodnight, father.”

I make it to my door and close it gently. I can’t lock it yet, at least not for another hour at the rate he’s going at, or at least until he turns the record player on. I’ll know then that he is too drunk to really operate a door or remember that I locked it. 

The one time I didn’t lock my door was shortly after my tenth birthday, about a year after my mother and Jellybean left. That was the first time he ever used his belt on me. I remember the pain from that night the most clearly. He had flung my door open in a drunken rage, ripped me from my bed, and thrown me to the floor. I don’t remember exactly how many lashes that I received, but I know at some point I passed out when the pain was too great for me to handle.

I woke up two days later, laying in my bed, covered in bandages. My father told me if I tried to tell anyone, I’d be seen as a liar, a little boy desperate for attention; no one would believe me because he was too respected in the community. He then said if anyone were to ask, I was to tell them that I had gotten into a fight and was dragged across the ground.

I remember the neighbor next door asking why I was acting strangely, why I stopped playing with my friends on our street, especially her son when he asked me to play. I stuttered through the story my father had insisted I use about getting in fight, and no one came near me after that. Everyone kept their children from me, insisting that I would harm them. I realize now that it was probably for the best that I was to be isolated, but at ten years old, it was depressing to have no one. I quickly became the boy everyone skirted around.

I walk over to my bed, kneel by the headboard and reach my hand into the hole I made in the box spring to conceal the one item I have left of my mother and Jellybean. It’s a small sketchbook of my mother’s drawings and water colors and Jelly’s attempt at art. I sit down on the edge of my bed and begin flipping slowly through the pages, running my fingers over the paper, feeling the ridges, knowing that their hands touched these pages long ago.

When they were still here, I remember my mother telling me to find the beauty in everything around me, to appreciate everything that I came across, especially in nature. I look at the colors and shadows of each piece, memorizing how my mother blended each color or the way she shaded her portraits. Some of them are heavily shaded, while others are lighter to give them a different feeling. Jellybean always colored slightly out of the line in all of her drawings.

While it may be considered careless to look at the only momento of my mother and sister while my door isn’t locked, but I really need the comfort the pictures bring. They were able to escape FP’s abuse. They were able to find a life far from here. Besides, I am almost constantly aware of FP’s presence. I know his drunken footfalls all too well, so I’m not worried. 

I turn to the next page, coming across a small watercolor of a woman. I’ve seen the portrait many times before, and hardly paid it any more attention than I had the others. However, something about the painting now reminds me of Betty; the curve of her body in the dark blue dress she wore today, the way her blue-green eyes held a curiosity in them, and mostly how she didn’t turn away from me when I gave her my warning.

I sigh, flipping to the last page, seeing my mother’s small handwritten note about which bank I would need to go to when I was old enough and not to tell my father. She wrote that her and Jellybean loved me deeply and hoped that we were all reunited one day. I just don’t know how I feel about that. I both respect her decision of leaving me and taking just Jellybean, but also hate her for leaving me here. 

I close the book and return it to its hiding place. I sit for a few moments, speculating whether or not I should find out who Hal Cooper’s daughter is and warn her, but then the music begins. If he’s started this early, something is upsetting him greatly about tonight’s dinner.

I get up, lock the door, and turn off the lights. I don’t change, just in case he tries to break the door down; if he does, then I can escape out the window. It’s not ideal, but I’d rather face the elements then deal with him tonight. I lie down, breathing deeply to calm myself. I close my eyes, praying to God that I make it through another night, and that he doesn’t come for me due to his pent-up rage. 

 

* * *

 

 

My alarm sounds, indicating that I made it through the night unscathed. I change my clothes quickly, then open my bedroom door cautiously, unsure of what I’ll find on the other side. There’s a bottle by my door, but it appears to have been dropped not smashed against my door or the wall. I carefully pick up the pieces, being quiet, and take them to the kitchen. There are some more bottles on the table and several more in the living room where the record player is still rotating.

After I straighten everything, take the trash out and receive the paper, I begin making my breakfast. I know that FP won’t be up for another hour, which should give me a bit of piece. I set my plate of toast and eggs on the table, and begin looking at the paper. FP has insisted that he should be the only one to read the paper, that I wouldn’t be able to follow the politics or how the war is unfolding or even how the state of politics work.

What he has failed to see is that I have listened silently for years. Listened to him sprout out numbers, facts, banter and studied enough to actually know what is going on.

Once I finish reading, I carefully fold the paper exactly how it was, and begin preparing FP’s breakfast. I glance at the clock and begin to calculate the numbers in my head that will reveal when I will finally leave this purgatory. I’ve done it for the past year, when my freedom became almost tangible on my seventeenth birthday. It’s a bit obsessive, really, but it gave me something to focus on, the numbers dwindling with each passing. 

I place his plate of eggs and toast on the table just as FP sits down. I glance quickly at his face, eyes are bloodshot and skin is sallow.

He croaks out, “Get me two aspirins, Forsythe.” 

I keep my voice low. “Yes, sir.” 

I get aspirin as well as his coffee, setting both in front of him. I go back to the kitchen, being careful not to clank the dishes together. FP eventually comes in and brings his dishes to the sink. His voice is stronger when he says, “Make sure dinner is ready when I get home.” 

I still keep my voice low, unsure of how bad his hangover is. “Yes, sir.”

He then places his hand on my shoulder and barely resist the urge to flinch. “Good luck on your test today, Son.”

”Thank you sir.”

He turns and goes back to the table to finish reading the paper as I finish the last of the dishes. I quickly grab my bag and jacket, leaving the house sooner than I normally would, but greatful I can take my time getting to school. While FP’s abuse is horrid to deal with, the days where he tires to be a decent person are unnerving, since he will never be one.

I reach the school in a daze, my head down, taking a seat at the back of the nearly empty auditorium. I close my eyes, resting my head against the wall, breathing in deeply.

Someone takes a seat next to me, and I open my eyes to see Elizabeth in the same seat she was in yesterday, her bag at her feet. She’s wearing a dark grey dress today, but her hair is the same, tightly pulled back in a ponytail. I can tell something is troubling her. Her eyebrows are knitted together and she keeps her eyes forward. She finally turns to me after a few moments of awkward silence, her eyes barely holding any green in them. “How are you feeling today?” She suddenly asks.

I can’t help quirking an eyebrow at her sudden question. I look around, seeing that hardly anyone is here. Maybe a quick conversation wouldn’t hurt? It would be nice to remind myself that that there is some good in this world, that there is something beautiful in it. “I’m feeling fine. Why do you ask?” I respond, trying to sound bored.

She continues to hold my gaze, her face still holding the worried expression, but then she asks another question. “Were you ill yesterday evening?”

”No.” I answer curtly. I’m getting somewhat irritated with her questions; they aren’t making any sense. Why is she suddenly concerned about my health? I haven’t been acting stranger than normal, have I?

“Do you like banana cake?” She asks in the same worried tone.

I’m confused by the change of the subject. “Elizabeth, why do you care?” 

She closes her eyes briefly. “Just answer the question, Forsythe.”

I huff out a sigh. “No. Not particularly.”

She slumps in her seat, covering her face with her hands. Before I can question her about her odd behavior, she takes her hands away and turning back to me and saying, “Why would your father lie, then?”

I stiffen. My breath catches and my heart accelerates to an unnatural speed. Elizabeth touches my hand and I feel my pulse begin to slow, as warmth spreads up my arm. “Forsythe? What’s wrong?”

I don’t say anything, but I take her hand, grabbing my bag and hers, leading us quickly out into the hall and down a flight of stairs to a storage room. I found this room two years ago when I needed the privacy to change my bandages after someone pushed me into a locker, causing my freshly-received wounds to re-open. 

I close the door and round on her, my words harsh. I can only hope she’s baiting me. “How do you know my father?”

Her face is hard as she answers. “He come over to our house last night for dinner. He said you were supposed to come too, but that you were ill.” 

I run my hand through my hair; gone is my last shred of hope that her father isn’t the one FP went to see. “Is your father Hal Cooper?” My voice is small and strained at the end.

She looks confused. “Yes, but why is that important?”

I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to hide the fact that this girl right in front of me, the one I’m starting to feel something for after only twenty-four hours, is in serious danger, especially after being in my presence. “Because your father’s firm is helping with the legal portions of building the St. Wenceslaus Church, while my father is helping finance it.”

She continues to look confused, not understanding the danger that she’s in. “So? Why does that matter?”

I sigh, frustrated that she doesn’t understand that FP is going to come after her. “It matters because our families will never getting to know each other very well in the coming months and...” 

Before I can continue, she cuts me off, her voice filled with hurt. “Are you saying that it’s a bad thing getting to know me? Forsythe, I don’t care about your past. I just want to be your friend. You aren’t the dangerous one. It’s your father!” She yells.

I raise both my eyebrows in surprise. In one meeting, the woman standing in front of me was able to figure out the FP’s outward appearance is a lie. With her standing here, seeing her reaction, the reason FP’s drinking becomes apparent. He knows she figured him out, but I’ll doubt she knows how truly evil he is.

I take her hand in mine, knowing I can’t let FP anywhere near her. She is too good. I have to warn her, but I don’t want to scare her, either. “Elizabeth, you have to listen to me. If FP ever  asks you to come work for him, you turn him down and run. I don’t care where you go, just get far from here. Far from me.”

Before I can stop myself, I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her hand softly. I have a deep longing for her lips, to feel how soft they are against mine. But I can’t kiss her. I can’t get close to her. I can’t go anywhere from here, no matter how much I want it to.

I look into her eyes, willing her to understand the importance of my words. “Please, Elizabeth? Please do that for me,” I plead. 

Her cheeks are flushed as she bites her bottom lip. “But why, Forsythe? I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you. I want nothing to do with your father. Please?” She begs.

I almost lose my resolve, hearing her say, ‘please’. I close my eyes, trying to distance myself. I can’t give in to her wishes, no matter how much I want to. “I can only be around you when I am no longer tied to FP. I won’t let him hurt you, knowing you’re tied to me.” I open my eyes and wish I hadn’t. 

Her face falls, a small tear dripping down her cheek as she looks down. My heart breaks, and what little resolve I had is gone. I gently pull her chin up so she’s looking at me, and say what is truly in my heart, hoping I don’t regret my words later. “Trust me, Elizabeth. I want to know you. I desperately want to ask your father for a night out with you, but it’s too dangerous.” 

I don’t expect her arms to wrap around me, and I feel my body stiffen slightly at the contact, especially when her hand grazes one of my cuts. But then I feel myself relax under her touch, and I wrap my arms around her, too. She smells of vanilla and something floral, causing a warmth to spread through my chest at the contact. This is what affection is supposed to be like. She belongs here, in my arms.

She turns her head, so I can hear her words. “I want all that, too, but I don’t know if I can wait.”

I pull back, my arms still slightly wound around her small body, as she looks at me. “Elizabeth, all I have is seventy-four days. That’s it. We can wait that long.”

She sighs. “Can I at least talk to you here? Can we at least try being friends?”

I think for a moment. I have never had a problem with anyone at school noticing my actions. Hers may be more difficult to cover since she just moved here, but with her saying that she wanted to be my friend, that angle might work. We just have to keep up the façade. “Yes, but I have to pretend I’m not interested, and you can’t sit with me everyday. It will draw too much attention.”

She nods her head, looking down. I hear the stampede of hundreds of feet above us, and realize that our time is up. “We need to leave. I’ll go first, then count to ten.” Feeling bold, I kiss her hand again, wishing it was her lips. “Until tomorrow.” I leave, slinging my bag over my shoulder and begin taking the stairs two at a time, feeling lighter than I ever have. 

I don’t want to count the days, hours, minutes or seconds until I leave anymore. I want to cherish every moment I can wish Elizabeth. I don’t want a reminder of how little time I’m going to have with her. 


	4. Patience

_Betty’s Point Of View_

 

Thanksgiving break has been difficult, knowing that Forsythe is having to spend so much time alone with his father while I’m around the dinner table with my family, able to laugh and talk freely, without wondering if what I say is going to get me into trouble. I can only imagine what Forsythe’s dinner is like, and I don’t think it’s anything like mine. 

I wish my father would have thought to invite FP and Forsythe, but he was likely not informed of the Jones’ lack of family. Even though it would have been awkward to have FP, at least I would’ve known that Forsythe could have gotten a decent, worry-free dinner out of it.

Forsythe and I have kept the verbal communication to a minimum these past few weeks, but have resorted to a note system to get to know each other. My day usually starts out by slipping him the note that I wrote the night before while we’re in the auditorium. By the end of the day, he slips me his response and questions in my locker, making my heart beat with anticipation to get home so that I can read it. Through these notes, I am slowly getting to know him, but also finding that I am slowly falling for him with each passing day; I’m finding it harder to come up with an excuse to see him as just a friend. 

He has revealed so much of himself in these few lines of information he has given me each afternoon. His last note told me about his small notebook with his sister and mother’s paintings in them. It’s the only possession of theirs he still has; FP destroyed everything else that belonged to them in a fit of rage when they left. Forsythe wishes he could paint like his mother could, but FP believes that such an act is a waste of time and money. The way he spoke about his mother, it sounded like he had mixed feelings about her leaving him here and taking his sister, who’s name I learn is Forysthia, but I don’t pry too much.

I’m really beginning to loathe everything about FP. While Forsythe hasn’t revealed terribly much about him, I’ve garnered enough to know that he is very controlling over every aspect of Forsythe’s life. I honestly don’t blame him for wanting to join the Marines to get away from him. I just wish he didn’t have to leave in order to do so, mostly because that means I’ll be left here without him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Monday couldn’t have come more slowly, but it finally did. I rushed through my morning routine, excitement flooding through me for him to read my next note. I, for once, leave my hair down, pining it back to keep it out of my face, and put on the first dress my hand lands on. My breakfast is rushed, and I feel Polly looking at me oddly as I hurry through my meal. 

“What’s the rush? You’re never eager to get to school, especially this early.” Polly says through a yawn.

I swallow my eggs quickly, keeping my eyes down on my plate, trying to think of an any excuse as to why I would want to be early other than to see Forsythe. “Oh, I wanted to ask Veronica about the upcoming dance.”

Hearing the words that just tumbled out of my mouth, I nearly bang my head on the table. Why did I just say that? I have no desire to go to the dance unless it’s with Forsythe, and that’s not going to happen. Polly is going to see right through the story I’ve concocted. 

Polly turns in her chair to face me. I can feel her eyes narrowing at me, her body tensing for an argument. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Her voice is serious.

I look up, rolling my eyes at her. “Polly, you are being utterly ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a boyfriend. I wouldn’t date someone who wasn’t willing to talk to Dad first, and secondly, I just wanted to ask if Archie Andrews had asked Veronica to the dance.” Well, at least some of that was true. I could really care less if Archie had gotten asked, but I needed to give Polly something.

I see her relax back in her chair, looking back down at her plate. “Good, if you did, you know that I would have to tell Dad.”

I gulp at the prospect of my father finding out about Forsythe. I can only imagine what FP would do to him as punishment. “You are really never going to drop the protective big sister act, are you?”

She looks up, a slightly pained look on her face. “Who says it’s an act? You’ve seen what happened to me after some of mine. I just want to protect you.”

I sigh, closing my eyes at her comment. I look back up at her, trying not to sound sarcastic. “Polly, you know I love you, but I can take care of myself, especially when it comes to dating.” Taking the last bite of my eggs, I stand up to go to the kitchen to clean my plate.

Polly follows after me shortly, entering as I’m drying my dish. She gently pushes her shoulder into mine, giving me a playful smile. I look up and see the worry in her green eyes, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, El, that’s all.”

I roll my eyes at the nickname she refuses to stop using, and put the plate away. I look her in the eyes and keep my voice soft. “Thank you for your concern, Polls, but when I meet Mr. Right, you can go try and intimidate him all you want. Until then, I’m content to sit at home. I promise.” I leave the kitchen and hear her giggle at the comment, and the nickname. I hate lying to her; we’ve been so close ever since I could talk. I just don’t want to jeopardize a future with Forsythe, when I’m not even sure it’s a possibility.

I grab my things quickly, bundling myself in my cream coat, a scarf and hat due to the frigid weather. I want to run to school, but settle for a brisk walk to keep the attention off of me. I feel like the note in my pocket weighs a ton, and I desperately want to get to school so I can give it to Forsythe, but I mostly want to get there so I can see him.

I walk into the auditorium, being one of the first to arrive, but find that Forsythe isn’t here. I think that maybe I’m a little early, even for him, but after a few minutes of waiting, I find that isn’t the case. When Veronica arrives, I ask her if she was asked to the dance by Archie Andrews, just so I don’t have to lie to Polly again, and she excitedly tells me the story of how he asked her just before she left the school last week.

Throughout the morning announcements, I turn my head slightly every time the door opens or I see someone move in their seat near the back, but it’s never him. My stomach clenches painfully and I realize that something isn’t right. I don’t think he could be sick. There isn’t anything doing around that I know of, but deep down I know his absence has something to do with FP. I don’t know what he’s done, but it can’t be good if Forsythe isn’t here. This is his only means of putting distance between himself and FP. He wouldn’t give it up willingly unless something bad happened.

I want to know if he’s okay, but his telephone number is on one of the notes at home. I could kick myself for not memorizing it. I hate to wait that long to speak with him, but my only other option is to skip school. My parents would undoubtedly find out and ground me for the rest of my life, especially if I couldn’t find a good excuse of why I did it. If I can get home quickly, hopefully I can speak with him briefly before his father gets home. I just don’t know if I’m going to make it through the day not knowing if something is wrong.

 

* * *

 

Veronica greets me at my locker as the final bell sounds. “Hey, are you okay, Elizabeth? You have been off all day.” I open my locker quickly, my last small hope that Forsythe might have slipped in late, but there is no paper anywhere to be found.

I frown, looking at the floor of the empty locker. “Yeah. I’ve had a stomachache today and it just won’t go away.” It’s not entirely untrue. My stomach has been in knots all day, thinking about why Forsythe isn’t here. 

Veronica smiles warmly at me. “I wish you would have said something. I keep aspirin with me,” She says, beginning to dig around in her bag.

I wave her off, knowing full well that the remedy for my stomachache isn’t medication. “I took some earlier. I think I just need to go home and lie down.” 

She places a hand on my shoulder, a small smile on her face. “I hope you feel better. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

I nod my head. “Thanks, Veronica.”

I force myself not to run for the door. I am pulling on my coat when I hear Veronica come up behind me. “By the way, I meant to ask you earlier, has anybody asked you to the winter formal yet?”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm myself, and try to keep from screaming at poor Veronica. She has no idea how much I’m aching to get home, and being short with her isn’t going to help the situation. Um.....no. Nobody has asked me, but I really don’t want to go. I’m not a very good dancer.” That’s completely untrue. My father has danced with me nearly every Friday night since I was a little girl. It was something I looked forward to when I was young, but now we hardly seem to have time for it, given how many meetings and dinners he has to attend. 

She comes to face me, a look of pity at my lack of prospects crossing her face. “Well, I can see if my friend, Nicolas, will take you. He haven’t asked anyone that I know of. I’m sure he would love to take you.” She gushes.

I give her a small smile, trying desperately not to yell in frustration. "Veronica, it's really okay. I really don't want to go." I turn to the door, "I will see you tomorrow."

I begin buttoning my coat, walking briskly down the street without full on running, when I hear Polly behind me, yelling my name. I look up at the sky, slowing down, asking God why he decided that is the today everyone would have an intrest in me.

”Is something wrong, El? You never walk home this quickly.” Polly comes up next to me, slightly breathless.

”Polly, please don’t call me that. And I have some homework that needs to be done tonight that I forgot about,” I respond softly, keeping the whine out of my voice.

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Why do you always wait until the last moment to do your assignments? It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

My mouth pops open in shock at her words, but I recover quickly when irritation flows through me. “Thanks for the encouragement, Polly. And I don’t always wait until the last moment to do my assignments. It just slipped my mind, and I need to get it done tonight. It shouldn’t take to long, though.” I try to think of anything to get the attention off of me so Polly doesn’t pick up how nervous I am. I grab for the only subject that seems to be coming to my mind today and say, “Has someone asked you to the Winter Formal yet?” 

Polly smiles and looks towards the sidewalk, blushing. “Yes actually, Jason from my Language Arts class.” 

We finally reach our house, Polly chattering about how much she adores Jason. It takes everything I have not to leap toward the phone when we walk through the door, and I quickly tell her good luck with Jason at the dance. 

Polly smiles, heading into the kitchen, and I nearly groan in frustration, knowing she would hear every word I say to Forsythe. Polly, being her nosy sister self, would more than likely ask who I’m speaking with, especially given the conversation we had this morning. 

I trudge to my room, not sure if I will be able to sit still. I pull out the first book my hand touches, then pull out my notebook with all of Forsythe’s notes. I open a random page of the book, placing it on my desk, and then carefully find the note where Forsythe wrote his telephone number. I memorize the number quickly, just in case I get the chance to speak with Forsythe. How do I get Polly out of the house, or at least in her room long enough to check on Forsythe? Do I ask her to help me with some trivial fact? Maybe that could get her to at least go to her room and go through her books.

Polly knocks on my door, a half-eaten apple in hand. I look up from the book I’ve been using to feign studying. “I need to go to the library for a little bit. Do you need me to get any books for you?” I look up, not believing what I just heard. It seems that something is finally going right today.

”Um... no. Thank you, Polly. I think I have everything I need.” I give her a small smile. I’m practically shaking with anticipation for her to leave, so I press my hands on the book.

”Alright. Well, I shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or two. Just let Mom know when she comes home.” 

I nod my head, looking back down at my book. She leaves, but I don’t dare move until I hear the door open, then shut. I leap out of my chair, running into the living room. Grabbing the receiver, I begin dialing the numbers as quickly as the rotary will go. 

It rings several times before I hear, “Jones residence.” Forsythe is on the other end of the phone, and he sounds absolutely awful. His voice is raspy, his breathing labored.

I hold the receiver tighter. “Forsythe, it’s me. Where were you today? Are you okay?” I’m trying desperately not to panic at how he sounds. 

He breaths slowly before answering. “I’m okay, Elizabeth.” 

But he doesn’t sound like it. I would like to see him, just so I give myself some peace of mind. “Would you like me to bring you something? I can make you some soup.”

”No, Elizabeth. I’m not sick. I promise I’ll be okay. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” His voice is hard. He pauses, and I hear him breathe deeply again. “Sorry if I scared you. I’ll be there tomorrow. I was really looking forward to your note today.” He says softly. 

I smile, “Well, I’ll need to add another page of questions after today, you know that, right?” 

He pauses, as if thinking. “I’ll do my best to answer them. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Forsythe.”

”Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

I hang up, leaning my forehead against the wall. I didn’t actually have any homework, so any hope of distraction is completely gone. I feel wound up and I have nothing to keep my mind off of Forsythe. I was hoping for some relief by speaking to him, but all it has done is make me want to run to him. I need to see him with my own two eyes, to know that he’s actually okay, because he didn’t sound like it. 

I stand up in frustration, going into the kitchen to get something to drink, but then the idea comes to me. The chocolate cake we were supposed to make all of those weeks ago would be a good distraction, and we have all of the ingredients for it. It would give me something to do, and I could bring him a piece  tomorrow.

I pull out all of my ingredients and set to my task. While it doesn’t distract my mind, it is helping pass the time. My mother walks in just as I’m pulling the cake out of the oven. She walks up, giving my shoulders a quick squeeze. “What’s the cake for, dear? Are we expecting company?” 

“Oh no, Mother. I just couldn’t sit still, and needed something to do. So, I figured what better way to keep my hands busy than to make a chocolate cake? Besides, I can bring a piece to Veronica tomorrow.”

My mother smiles, “Alright, honey. You know how much your father enjoys chocolate cake. I may have to send a few pieces with you so he doesn’t eat it all.” She leaves with a chuckle, going back to their room to change. I smile, greatful I won’t have to lie about where that extra piece went.

 

* * *

 

 

I walk into the auditorium quickly, but my heart sinks when I see he’s not here again. I begin to walk forward slowly when I feel a warm hand grab my shoulder. I spin around and am met with a pair of deep blue eyes. The unease in my stomach finally releases, making me feel lighter than I’ve felt in days. 

He gestures to the hall and walks out without a word. I count to five, then walk out confidently, and head down the hall to the storage room. I’m about to run into his arms, but he holds up his hands to stop me.

”What’s wrong.” I am stunned and hurt that he’s turning down my hug. 

“You can’t touch me right now.” He responds, his voice firm. 

“What? Why not?” I’m trying not to sound hurt, but failing miserably. 

He sighs, looking down. “You can’t say anything, okay.” 

I nod my head, unsure of the secret that I’ll be keeping along with the countless lies I’ve told recently. He begins taking his sweater off, and I immediately back up, afraid of where this is going. He sees my reaction and stops. “Elizabeth, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. But I need to show you why I wasn’t here yesterday so you’ll understand why I don’t want you anywhere near FP.”

I nod again, still leery of why he’s taking off his clothes. He lifts his sweater revealing a white undershirt. He then turns, so his back is facing me. It’s then that I notice the red stains crossing his back; the unease of him hurting me vanishing as a new tension replaces it. I’m about to ask where the stains came from when he lifts his shirt slowly over his head. There are several blood-soaked bandages over his back, along with a number of old and new scars mixed amongst his skin. 

I put my hands up to my mouth to swallow my suprise. I choke out in a small voice, “Forsythe..” But I have to stop to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat “What happened?”

”I didn’t finish all of my chores the night of Thanksgiving.” He pauses. “He beat me with his belt.” His eyes never leave the floor.

I feel my anger rising quickly as he begins replacing his shirt and sweater. I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, but not because of sadness. I’m going to kill FP myself for what he has done to Forsythe, the very next time he comes over. 

Forsythe turns around, facing me again, running his fingers through his hair, his eyes trained on the floor. His voice is low. “That’s why I don’t want you around him.” He finally looks up and must see my face, because his face grows hard, voice cold. “Don’t pity me.” 

I look at him and scoff. “Forsythe, don’t think so lowly of me. I would never pity you. The only thing I’m think right now is that you are the bravest, most intelligent person I know, and you don’t deserve what he’s done to you.” I pause, taking a steadying breath. “You know, the next time FP comes over, I’m going to poison his stupid banana cake.” 

Forsythe smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He comes over and gently wraps his arms around me. I put my hands on his chest, fearful I’m going to hurt him more. “As much as I would love for you to take care of him, I would rather leave him and hear of his suffering while I’m far away.”

I sigh against his chest, wishing I could take not just his physical pain away, but also his emotional. Or at least replace it with what I’m feeling for him right now.

He pulls away, taking my right hand and presses his lips to it, causing my hands to tingle. If my hand feels like this, I wonder what it would be like to actually kiss him? “We need to go, Elizabeth.” 

He turns to leave, but then I remember everything I have for him. “Wait, Forsythe!” I retrieve the letter and piece of cake I wrapped in wax paper from my lunch pail.

He looks down at the wax paper. “What’s this?” 

I smile, “I couldn’t sit still yesterday after I got off the phone with you, so I made this.” I gesture to his hand.

A small smile comes across his face, his eyes starting to light up. “But, what is it?”

I gesture for him to lean forward so I can whisper in his ear, “You’ll have to wait until lunch.” Feeling bolder than ever have, I give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

He straightens up, a goofy smile crossing his face. “I look forward to your note.” I say, giving him a sly smile, then I’m out the door before he can respond. 


	5. Inevitable

 

 

 

_Forsythe’s POV_

 

 

I’ve just finished the last of my homework, placing it in my bag for tomorrow. I grab my notebook out of my bag and fan my notes with my thumb until I come across Elizabeth’s letters, tucked within the pages. I read over her letters, having memorized most of her words already. 

It amazes me that in just the few last weeks, I have been able to open up to her in a way I haven’t been able to do with anybody else. What amazes me more is that I think that I am falling in love with her. With every note that falls into my possession, I learn more about this incredible woman; I crave to kiss her, to call her mine. But the problem is that I can’t reveal my true feelings for her, not until I first know that she is safe.

I pull out her most recent letter from Friday, reading it over again and smiling. She speaks of the places that she wants to visit in the world. How she wants to see Paris, Madrid, London, and places she doesn’t even know the names for yet. She doesn’t want to sit idle, she wants to make a difference. She doesn’t want to do what is expected of her and settle down in life; she wants adventure.

I sigh and think about how to answer her questions about where I would go if I had the chance, and what I would do with my life. What would I be? If FP wasn’t in my life and I didn’t have to worry about him, what would I do?

I lean back in my chair, putting my hands behind my head. Truthfully, I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not anywhere near FP. Although the thought of going somewhere with her, listening to her speak about the beauty that surrounds her, trying different foods and listening to music while I hold her close to me, does sound like a dream.

I really haven’t thought about life outside the Marines yet. My current goal is to put as much distance between myself and FP as I can. I’m sure I could find something to do and would keep me busy and interested. Maybe I could work in a government job and keep people like FP from destroying anyone else’s life.

Elizabeth really makes me think about what I want, beyond just my escape. She actually seems to care what happens to me when I finally get away from him, and that’s what makes it harder with each passing day to push my feelings aside.

I pull out a fresh piece of paper and begin responding to her pouring myself into every word I place on the page, telling her how amazing adventures like that would be. I honestly tell her I’m not sure what I want to do, but like her, I would like to make a difference in someone’s life.

I ask her what she wants to do with her life since she doesn’t want to be a teacher or a nurse. I have to restrain myself from asking if she sees me in her future, if she sees me going on the adventures she describes; it leaves a small ache within me.

If I didn’t have FP to deal with right now, I would run to her home this very instant and so the one thing I have been craving to do since the day I kissed her hand. I want so badly to show her how I really feel, to tell her how much I want to be with her, and do nothing but kiss her lips and find out if they are as soft as they appear to be. 

Once I’m finished, I tuck the letter neatly in my math book. I stand, stretching her back, before heading out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I hear the soft music of the radio coming from the living room, and I sigh in contentment, listening to the melody. This is one of the only few times FP had indulged in such things without drinking. Even though he tells me music is something that takes years to appreciate, I can’t help but laugh at the comment. I doubt he cares what he listens to; I think he simply does it to impress his clients.

I close my eyes, listening to the soft music float in from the living room, listening to how the band rises and falls with the beat. I imagine myself with Elizabeth in my arms, dancing in a tight circle in a living room on a Sunday afternoon. Somewhere far from here, where I can express my feelings to her, and she can be who she wants to be.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the song abruptly stop and a man begins making an announcement. 

_“We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin. ‘The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by air, President Roosevelt has just announced. The attack was also made on all naval and military  activities on the principal island of Oahu.’_

_The president’s brief statement was read to reporters by Stephen Early, the president’s secretary._

_A Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor natuarally would mean war. Such an attack would naturally bring a counterattack. And hostilities of this kind would naturally mean the president would ask Congress for a deceleration of war. There is no doubt from the Timbre of Congress that suck a declaration would be granted._

_This morning, Secretary Hull talked with the Secretaries of War and of the Navy. Now the two special Japanese envoys, Admiral Nomura and Special Envoy Kurusu, are at the State Department, engaged in conference with Secretary Hull._

_Their appearance at the State Department on this Sunday afternoon emphasizes the gravity of the Far Eastern situation, where hostilities now seem to actually be opening over the entire South Pacific._

_And now just comes word from the president’s office that a second air attack has been reported on Army and Navy bases in Manila. Thus, we have an official announcement from the White House that Japanese airplanes have attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii and have now attacked Army and Navy bases in Manila._

_We return you now to New York and we’ll give you later information as it comes along from the White House. We return you now to New York.”_

I grip the counter, my knuckles turning white. My breathing is coming in short gasps as I try to be quiet. We’re going to war. The war that was going on overseas has finally reached us on our own shores. Fighting, killing, and inflicting pain are going to be things that I have to do to stay alive. Can I do that? Is it worth it to join now when my chances of getting killed have just increased tenfold? Is it worth it to potentially lose my chance with Elizabeth? To lose any chance to potentially be happy with her?

The phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. “Forsythe, go get the phone,” FP says roughly from the living room. 

I walk with purpose to the phone, greatful for the distraction from my thoughts. “Jones residence,” I announce, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

”Oh, thank god! Forsythe, did you hear the radio just now?” Elizabeth’s hushed voice fills my ears, slowing my racing heart.

I think quickly back to the code I had come up with if we ever needed to correspond with FP in the room. “Yes?” Then I pause, long enough to feign someone speaking on the other end. “I’m sorry, Miss, you have the wrong number.”

”Meet me behind the school, please. I really need to talk to you before tomorrow.” I can hear the panic in her voice and I so badly want to tell her it’s going to be okay. 

“Yes, Miss, the last two numbers are six zero, not three zero.” I reply, keeping my voice flat and free of emotion. 

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes, okay?” I hear her voice crack on the last word. 

Hearing her this upset is making it exceedingly  difficult to keep my voice level. “Alright, Miss, you have a nice day.”

I hang up and turn around to see FP standing behind me, listening to everything I just said. “Who was that?” He asks. 

I shrug. “It was a wrong number, sir. They had the last two numbers wrong.”

He nods and goes into the kitchen. I begin quickly thinking of possible excuses to get out of the house for about an hour to go see Elizabeth. Every lie seems to be wilder than the last, and I begin to silently panic, running my hands through my hair.

I hear FP opening the fridge, pulling a beer out and popping the cap. His voice drifts over to me. “Forsythe, it seems as we don’t have much for dinner tonight. Go to the store and grab a few things for us.” 

I nearly collapse to the floor in relief, greatful that God seems to finally be on my side today.  I walk into the kitchen, arranging my face so that he doesn’t know how much I was just panicking. “Yes, sir. Is there something in particular you would like tonight?” 

He looks deep in thought, his eyes continuing to glance around the kitchen. Finally, he says, “Chicken is fine, Forsythe.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out ten dollars and hands it to me. His eyes suddenly snap up to my face. “I expect change. Do you understand?” His eyes darken with the hint of punishment if I don’t.

I look down at the money. “Yes, sir.” 

I walk down the hall to my room, pulling the letter from my book and putting it in the pocket of my pants. I take my time, lacing up my boots and grabbing my gloves, scarf and hat, then I walk to the front door where I pull my coat off the hook. I button the front carefully, knowing I’ll be facing the elements longer than normal.

I walk out, being careful that FP and several of the neighbors see me walking in the direction of the store. At first chance, I backtrack across several neighborhoods, running at full tilt; the light breeze of the overcast sky stings my face with the cold. 

I may not be very strong, but I am very fast and I gain ground quickly. The school comes into view, and I see a flash of cream coat going behind the building. I slow to jog so I’m not completely out of breath when I see her. 

Just as I round the corner, she runs to me, wrapping her arms around me. I pull her close to me, wrapping my arms tightly around her, feeling her shake against me.

She pulls back after a moment, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Forsythe...what’s going to happen? We’re going to war.” Her voice is thick with emotion. 

I take my gloves off, wiping the tear from her face. “I think you’re right. It seems inevitable now.” She places her hand on top of mine, halting my movement. She leans into my hand, and it sends warmth up my arm. 

Her tears come faster, her voice shaking. “But Forsythe, you could be killed..I..I can’t lose you.”

At her words, I lose control of what little constraint I had left. I cup her face gently, pulling her lips to mine. I would preferred to have this happen in a more romantic setting, not the impending thought of war, but I need something to hold onto if I’m going to be fighting. I need this so I know someone’s waiting for me.

She’s surprised at first, but then her lips move slowly with mine, her arms wrapping around my waist. It sends currents through my body, my knees weakening with the surge of emotion this kiss brings.

I pull away after a few moments, breathless. I place my forehead to hers, our breaths mixing together to create a small halo of fog around us. “Thank you. With a kiss like that, I don’t care who I’ll be fighting. No one is going to stop me from coming back to you.” 

She smiles weakly. “I’ll write to you everyday, Forsythe, but please come back to me. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you.”

I smile, caressing her cool cheek. “I’m not leaving yet, Elizabeth. So maybe we can share a few more of those kisses. I really need as many reminders as I can get so I know you’ll be here waiting for me.” 

She smiles, leaning up on her toes to kiss me again. It’s a very passionate kiss, and I would love to do nothing more than continue kissing her, but I know I need to go before FP gets too suspicious of my long absence. 

I pull back reluctantly, taking in the breathtaking smile that crosses her lips. “I have to go.” Pulling the letter out of my pocket, I place it in her hands. “I’ll be thinking of you all night.” I give her a final, quick peck before she has the chance to respond, I run down the street with the biggest grin on my face.

 


End file.
